by Linda Coles
Had she been a little more in tune and aware of her surroundings, she might have noticed the same man fall into step a couple of people behind her and follow her to her final destination of a solitary chair by the wall.
Hadley let her sit and carried on past as though he had intended all along to go that way, she none the wiser to his moves or motive. He stood near the entrance to the gents’ room and watched her from less than twenty feet away. It was obvious something was bothering her from her body language, and it wasn’t just a hard day at work. Could she be the perfect candidate? His eyes travelled to her ankles again, then lower down to her perfect toes protruding from delicate sandals with thin pins for heels. A little redness was showing, and he wanted to take them in his hands, to soothe them for her, dip them into something cool, like milk, rub them and take care of them. He felt himself harden at the thought of easing her discomfort and stroking those feet leisurely.
For hours at a time. For his own satisfaction.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Once inside the gents’ toilets, he reached inside his breast pocket and pulled out an ornate pillbox. He held the tiny silver box in his hand like it was the smallest of birds and just as precious. It had been his mother’s pillbox, and one she’d used all the time, right up until she’d finally died a rather slow and unpleasant death. Hadley’s father, long gone many years before his wife, had looked after the family well. They’d wanted for nothing as the years had rolled by. Old money had kept them all in comfort, and it was that same old money that had enabled Hadley to become a shoe designer. Especially through the early years. There hadn’t been a lot of money in the shoe design business back then – still wasn’t, unless you were an established name – but it hadn’t worried Hadley because there was always the old family money to dip into.
When his mother had finally passed, he’d sold up. Sold the heirlooms, sold the estate, sold everything, and he now had a tidy sum sat in investments and in the bank. His place on Mayfair was extravagant but suiting, as was his holiday home in Guernsey, though he hardly ever frequented the place these days. No, he was happy around London, working, watching and doing his other favourite pastime – anticipating.
He opened the box gently in the privacy of the stall and marvelled at the little grain-like devices. How could something so tiny ultimately bring so much pleasure later on? There were two of them, one green tipped and one amber tipped. The colour indicated what would happen when each one was activated. The amber one, signalling ‘look,’ meant that a possible individual had been found but the operator needed to do a little digging into their past to find their sweet spot. In other words, what debt they might need settling – and there was always one to be found. Most people had something worth fighting for if you dug deep enough, a skeleton they’d rather not have uncovered. With men, it was usually an indiscretion. With women, well, it was not much different, really: old boyfriends with secret videos and photos, secret babies, or the age-old favourite – secret liaisons. So much of what happened in this particular system was to do with sex of some form from some earlier time.
The other little device, the green one signalling ‘go,’ informed the operator that an individual had been found and they required immediate surveillance and apprehension as soon as possible. Once the trackers in either case were activated by liquid, such as a drink or stomach contents, there was a 24-hour window to get into that person’s life or encourage them into one’s own via their sweet spot, the debt that needed settling.
Hadley picked out the amber-tipped grain and held it between the tips of his thumb and forefinger. Closing the little pillbox with his other hand and tucking it away, he knew precisely what to do and how to do it. He was quite the practiced professional after all these years. Keeping the little device firmly in his grasp, he left the stall, left the gents’ room and headed back out to where he hoped the woman was still sat. As he rounded the entrance back out into the main hall, he couldn’t have been happier. There in the distance, he could see her as she stood with her tea still in her hand and her bag by her chair. She bent to pick it up and leave her resting place – headed back to work, no doubt. Hadley picked up speed as he neared her and, in a practiced move, bumped her right arm with his, hard enough that the tea cup catapulted out of her hand and onto the floor. It was an easy move he’d completed without fault on numerous occasions, and today was no different.
“Oh!” he exclaimed. “My goodness! Please, excuse my clumsiness. Are you okay, madam? I hope you’re not hurt?” He looked into the brownest eyes for a split second before he busied himself trying to settle the woman he’d bumped into a moment ago. “I’m so sorry – what an absolute oaf. Look, let me at least replace it. What were you enjoying before I came along?”
He was looking directly at her now, his best gentleman face in place to put her at ease. For his plan to work, she needed to relax a little more. Eventually she spoke. It was more of a loud whisper.
“That’s not necessary, thanks. I’m due back on the stand in a moment anyway.” She smiled the weakest of smiles he’d ever seen on a woman, and he wondered at her obvious pain. The woman seemed so sad, so beaten.
“Then let me get you something to sip on during the afternoon. Which stand are you on? It’s the least I can do, and besides, I insist.” He smiled his practiced, gentle smile and to his delight, she returned the same.
“Green tea. Thank you.” Such a small voice; it needed cheering up.
Something inside of him glowed warm as she melted for him.
“I’m over there.” The woman pointed across the way to her particular stand. He nodded.
“Then you go on ahead. I’ve detained you long enough. I’ll replace your beverage and drop by shortly.” His smile was like a full stop to their conversation, and she nodded and turned back on her route towards her work for the afternoon. Hadley stood for a moment and watched her go, the thin grain between his thumb and finger reminding him there was still work to be done. He turned on his heel and made his way back to the drinks cart to order a replacement green tea. When it was safely in his hands, he dropped the tiny grain inside the paper cup and wandered over to her stand. Even if she didn’t drink it all, and she probably wouldn’t do now, the grain would have been activated and the cogs and wheels would start turning.
In a few short hours, he would know a whole lot more about the delightful mystery woman whose feet he was dying to spend time with.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Across town, the newly activated device appeared on a screen. The flashing amber light was the operator’s cue to activate the players within the vicinity and locate the target. Once the target had been confirmed, the next part of the plan would run. That’s the part the operator always found the most fun – the digging. Some enjoyed the surveillance, but to him that tended to be boring. What was fun about sitting in a van waiting for a target to move so you could follow them to their next destination, and then sitting in a van and waiting for them to move on again? Monotony was not his forte. He watched the screen as the three players he’d activated made their way towards the glowing amber light that they were following on their own screens. Until they reached the destination, no one knew anything about their target, not even the gender, though from experience, the operator knew they were predominately female.
He didn’t have many female clients who used his service. It was only a couple of percent in reality, and over the years he’d been operating, that percentage had stayed about the same. The vast majority of fetish requests – to his own business and to others, he knew – came from the males of the human race. He’d done his research. Fetishists tended to be men, usually with a background of infatuation with a woman – an over-enthusiastic love for their mother or a mother figure – or a dominant woman early in their life. The fetish was something that developed in their teen years, rather than in their later years. Feet, shoes, hair – in fact, any part of the body could be attractive to someone who had developed a fascination with and
sexual desire for it. The operator couldn’t have cared less. If hair did it for them, then so be it. If fingers did it for them, then fingers it was. The client got what they desired, and in return the giver got their debt paid, even if they never realized it at the time.
But their lives would be better off for it.
There were never victims. Any crime against the giver was mild, maybe burglary or, at a push, assault, but that was a small price to pay for the service he was offering and the better life he was giving. And no one would come to any physical harm. Those were the rules. Hair would grow back, and clients who liked to spend time with certain body parts knew not to overextend their attentions.
Only a handful of those who indulged in his service had ever escalated their desires to another level, but that had never happened on the operator’s watch. He knew the temptations his clients faced, so he took precautions of his own. What his clients didn’t realize, and would never realize, was that there was a small discreet team assigned to them too, watching out for the giver’s safety both during and after the transaction. It only took one overexuberant client to spoil things, and the operator fiercely guarded against it. He had eyes and ears on every transaction at all times. But that was another story. Or service.
Fifteen minutes later, he got the confirmation that the target had been confirmed, and the image of a woman filled his screen. The first thing he noticed about her was her telling face. She looked troubled, but then the client who had activated their device was particularly skilled in seeking out someone with the desired past or problem to be solved, and he’d been doing it long enough.
With a few specific keystrokes to the right places, the operator found her issue almost straight away: her troublesome son. He quickly scanned Danny’s school record and saw his previous fighting notes as well as the latest and most disturbing one – possession of cannabis. The operator’s first thought was a question: was the cannabis really his? With a history of fighting, was Danny being bullied or had it been planted? He checked the files of the other boys who had been caught fighting with him over the last year and wasn’t surprised to find a pattern occurring. Several of them had police records for possession. Those same boys had been active in bullying other students too, students who, on further digging, had since moved away from the school.
He dug a little further into the bullies themselves. Their surnames all rang bells in his head, and he hoped they weren’t current clients of his. There was only one way to find out. He tapped his keyboard briskly and, with the information in front of him, relaxed a little. While they weren’t clients, he knew who they ‘belonged’ to. He thought for a moment. This particular problem needed fixing, but it could prove a little more difficult to solve. These people had friends in high places.
He sat back in his chair to think of the best way to handle it. His first plan of attack was invariably the one he went with, but he didn’t want to rush this one and risk getting it wrong. The face of the woman on his first screen looked back at him. She really was a beautiful woman, but the strain on her face was evident. It needed removing. He picked up his phone and dialled.
“I need three boys taken out of their posh school for good. And it needs to stick. Can you look after it?”
The voice asked for their names and the school. If the voice was cautious after knowing who their fathers were, he didn’t let on.
“I thought you’d find a way. Keep me informed. And it needs doing before the weekend.”
The voice confirmed it would be and hung up.
While this particular task would undoubtedly be expensive, it was for a client who had been with him for many years. The operator considered it an investment.
He recalled the three players who were milling around the woman he now knew as Ellen Millar. Their work had been done, and he sent them each a badge of completion as a job well done. The digital leaderboard behind him glowed with their updated tallies. With players back to their regular activities and his current project also being taken care of, he pushed his chair back and headed out of the office for some fresh air.
The stone steps and tiled wall of the stairwell to the street were cool, and the lunchtime sun streamed in through the doorway at the bottom. As he stepped out on to the footpath, diesel fumes hit him full in the face as a double-decker bus chugged past, black poison spewing from its exhaust pipe. Grimacing as he walked and holding his breath until it had passed fully, he slipped to the right and cut through an alleyway heading east towards the sandwich shop and lunch.
Sorting other people’s lives out always made him happy, though hungry.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
The afternoon sun shone down on Jack and Amanda as they pulled up outside Hadley Spinks’ workshop. The red brick building looked, from the outside, like many of the factories that once had been occupied across the south, many of which were now trendy apartments or ‘Google office space’–type start-up businesses that someone’s daddy was funding, probably in tech. Old dimple-frosted glass filled the small window pane sections that made up giant windows with domed tops. Amanda pointed to one as they walked towards the entrance.
“They remind me of Play School – remember that? Always a choice of looking through the square, the round or the arched window. I always picked the arched. How about you?”
Jack turned to Amanda and looked at her like she’d gone mad. “Can’t say I watched it when I was little. Was it still around when you were little, then?”
“Yes. Not for long, though. It died sometime in the late eighties. You’re the one with the trivia facts, Jack. I’d have thought you’d have known that one.”
They had reached the huge metal door and Amanda pressed the bell. A spyhole was visible at eye level just near the old letterbox slot. Amanda smiled at it like she was Garfield, just for fun. If anyone was indeed watching, they too would have thought she’d gone mad.
“Music trivia is more my thing, and detective stuff – old cases from long ago. Sherlock Holmes, Sweeney Todd. I like the crime shows on the TV too – the real crime ones, not that made-up cop crap.”
Male footsteps picked up pace on the other side of the door and the door opened inwards. A well-dressed man wearing a pale lilac shirt and a long ponytail greeted them both pleasantly. Amanda took the lead.
Hello. Mr. Spinks, is it?” The man smiled in answer. “I’m Detective Sergeant Amanda Lacey and this is Detective Constable Jack Rutherford.”
“I’ve been expecting you. Please do come in.” Hadley allowed them both to enter then closed the door quietly behind them. “Please, go through,” he encouraged them, pointing the way down the corridor, and fell in behind them both. A few steps down and the corridor opened into a brightly lit wide-open space that appeared to encompass several aspects of the business. Natural light filled the room from an almost all-glass roof, and Amanda marvelled at the sky above. Cabinets along the wall housed shoes, clearly designed and created over many years. Sewing machines took up one corner, and desks and chairs another. To their right was a sort of mock-up living room area, complete with velvet-covered chairs, an eighties-style standard lamp and a modern glass coffee table. To Amanda, it looked a bit of a style mish-mash but a comfortable seating area nonetheless.
“Wow, what a great space to work in,” she enthused.
An older woman joined them and enquired if they’d each like some tea.
“Thank you – yes, please,” Amanda said. Jack shook his head ‘no thanks’ and the woman left. Hadley invited them both to sit.
“Now, what can I do for you both? It was such a long time ago, I doubt I can be of much help, but we’ll see, eh?” He smiled his enigmatic smile at Amanda, and she found herself smiling back.
Hadley had a way with people, mainly women, that instantly put them at ease – which was both his skill and his intention. Amanda noted his silver shirt garters, one on each sleeve. They looked antique and quite lovely. Hadley noticed her glancing at them.
“They were my father’s, Go
d rest his soul. And his father’s before him. They are quite beautiful, aren’t they?” It was a statement rather than a question.
“Yes. I remember my grandfather wearing them, though his were not quite as nice as those ones. Still, not many men wear them now, but they suit you.” She knew she was rambling a little off topic, but found herself drawn to the man, drawn to talk. Jack cleared his throat in a hint to get moving.
“If you could take us through the events that led you to be cautioned? Start at the beginning and fill us both in.”
It was Hadley’s turn to clear his throat before he launched into what had happened the afternoon he had been caught at the agency. When he’d finished telling his story, he looked directly at Amanda intently, perhaps for support.
She went with a question. “So how did you find the place? There’s really no signage outside, no note on the door. How did you know it was there?”
“When one has a fetish like you now know I have, you are able to find out these things. And for the record, I’m not embarrassed any more, nor do I hide the fact that I find feet attractive.” He was so matter-of-fact about it that Jack raised his eyebrows in surprise. Luckily Hadley didn’t notice.
“I’m guessing there are others who appreciate the same things you do,” Amanda said. “Are there chat rooms, maybe? Do you take part in online forums?”
